Chapter 5 - The Glass Penthouse Battle
The storm that had been brewing over Lake Michigan finally broke as they emerged from a maintenance grate near the Chicago River. Rain lashed against the pavement, washing the dirt from Arya’s face as they ran toward a waiting taxi.
Maxwell threw a thousand dollars in cash at the driver. "Grant Tower. Don't stop for red lights."
Thirty minutes later, the taxi slammed to a halt in front of the glittering, eighty-story luxury skyscraper. The lobby was quiet, but Maxwell could see three black SUVs parked idling in the fire lane.
"They're already here," Elena whispered.
"They think they own the building," Maxwell said, pulling out his personal smartphone, which had finally regained signal. He dialled a number. "Marcus? Are you still at the bank?"
"Mr. Grant!" the janitor's voice came through the speaker, breathless. "The police are all over the bank. Those men in suits... they cleared out. What’s going on?"
"Listen to me, Marcus. I need you to call every news outlet in Chicago. Tell them there is an active hostage situation at the top of Grant Tower involving Thomas Sterling and a billion-dollar embezzlement scheme. Tell them to send news choppers. Now!"
Maxwell hung up and looked at Arthur, Elena, and Arya. "We have twelve minutes before the card self-destructs. Let’s go."
They bypassed the main lobby, using the building’s service elevator which required Maxwell’s biometric fingerprint. As the elevator ascended to the 80th-floor penthouse, the digital clock on the elevator wall ticked down mercilessly.
8 minutes.
7 minutes.
The doors opened directly into Maxwell’s ultra-modern, glass-walled penthouse. The panoramic view of the storm-lashed Chicago skyline was breathtaking, but none of them were looking at the view.
Standing in the center of the living room, surrounded by three heavily armed men, was Thomas Sterling. He had a bandage over his broken nose, his eyes burning with a murderous rage.
"You really are a fool, Maxwell," Sterling hissed. "Did you think I wouldn't have your personal residence monitored? Hand over the card. Now. Or the girl dies first, then your pretty little banker friend."
"It's too late, Thomas," Maxwell said, stepping forward. He held up the faded debit card. The blue light was flashing at an frantic, erratic pace. "The security protocols have locked. In five minutes, the entire Vance Industries database and the four billion dollars will be permanently deleted. Unless..."
"Unless what?" Sterling snarled.
"Unless we input the biometric key," Arthur Vance said, stepping out from behind Maxwell.
Sterling’s eyes went wide. "Arthur... you’re alive."
"Alive enough to watch you lose," Arthur said. "Arya, honey, come here."
Arya stepped forward, her small hand trembling. Arthur guided her toward Maxwell’s private terminal desk, which sat near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
"Kill them," Sterling ordered his men, his voice losing all its professional polish. "Kill them all and grab the girl!"
"I wouldn't do that, Thomas," Elena said, pointing toward the glass windows.
Through the rain, the bright searchlights of three local news helicopters suddenly illuminated the penthouse, their rotors roaring as they hovered just yards from the glass. Television cameras were pointed directly into the room, broadcasting the entire scene live to millions of homes across the country.
The tactical men froze, realizing their actions were being broadcasted in high-definition.
May you like
"It’s over, Sterling," Maxwell said, his voice calm, confident, and utterly triumphant. "The whole world is watching."
"I don't care!" Sterling screamed, drawing his own weapon and aiming it directly at Arya. "If I can't have it, nobody will!"
